


It Is Now

by Mirimea



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Smut, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-09-18 00:15:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9353177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirimea/pseuds/Mirimea
Summary: Kevin had always expected to become someone that would look forward to reunions like these; he had been chagrined to realize that it is the opposite.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Self-indulgent smut.

Kevin would tell the former Elder Church that an open bar at a wedding reception is never a good idea, but the ginger-flavored gin and tonics are too good to complain about. And besides, they help Kevin stay _just_ drunk enough to keep from being ashamed of his own displeasure—which is a relief, since he can’t seem to keep his mouth shut about his depressingly long list of ex-girlfriends around the former Elder McKinley tonight.

Kevin had always expected to become someone that would look forward to reunions like these; had been chagrined to realize that it is the opposite. The only person from the old District 9 that he keeps in touch with is Arnold (and Naba, by default)—which is entirely fine and not really something Kevin is inclined to change. Time passes, people drift apart; and besides, Kevin must admit to himself that he had never been particularly close to any of the other Elders in their district either way.

He would honestly include Connor McKinley in that sentiment; except in their group of mismatched former missionary colleagues, it has turned out that Kevin and McKinley have one unfortunate thing in common.

They never bring a date.

Which is probably why they get paired together at the dinner tables more often than not, and why they drift towards each other once people start to leave the tables to dance or socialize, Kevin supposes. He knows that McKinley lives as an openly gay man by now, that he can be surprisingly, amusingly _mean_ when he is inebriated, and that McKinley will always lend an ear whenever Kevin needs to vent.  

And in the end, Kevin only trails off when he takes a moment to look at McKinley— _really_ look at him for the first time in a while, and realizes that there is something like badly concealed amusement in his face.

“Are you laughing at me?” Kevin protests while he changes position on the uncomfortable bar stool. While he and McKinley are certainly friendly, Kevin must admit that he sometimes finds the other man perplexing; a strange bundle of contradictions. Transparent but still difficult to read. Almost theatrically dainty, yet surprisingly calculating.

And maybe Kevin has just always… Wait. No.

He doesn’t know.

He glances around the room, suddenly hoping to find Arnold somewhere in the crowd. But no, he is probably off somewhere with Nabulungi. Maybe they have already headed back up to their room.

“I’m not laughing at you.” McKinley lets himself smile for real now. At what must be an unimpressed look from Kevin, he continues. “No, seriously, I’m not. I just—I’ve always wondered--” He trails off, gives Kevin another smile, runs his finger over the rim of his salt-lined glass of margarita.

“What?” The sound of music, of people around them, seems to increase in volume. They way McKinley is looking at him is making him feel somewhat claustrophobic.

“Nothing,” McKinley says cheerily as he reaches out to brush something from Kevin’s shoulder, then lets his hand stay there for a moment, brushing his fingers over the side of Kevin’s neck; Kevin is about to ask him what he is doing except, well—

\--one way or another, that is the start of a series of events that leads Kevin up to Connor McKinley’s hotel room, kissing his former district leader in a way that Kevin has never kissed _anyone_ before. At least, it has never been like _this_ before, like he has been starving for it without even knowing it.

When McKinley pulls away it leaves Kevin panting for air, even as he reaches out to draw him back in again.

“Oh, my goodness.” McKinley laughs, cheeks tinted pink. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Kevin has to clear his throat before he can speak, and his heart is beating so fast it makes the entire world feel unsteady. His body is buzzing, he can still feel McKinley’s warmth like an imprint on his body. “Why?”

“Because--” McKinley hesitates for some reason, then shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

Kevin shrugs it off and steps closer, eager to continue before the feeling under his skin turns into something less pleasant and more like panic. But when he reaches out, McKinley shies away again, holding up a finger to wag at him.

“Uh-uh.”

“What?”

“Sorry Price, but there is one thing I have to ask.”

Kevin wets his lips with his tongue, suddenly hesitant. “What?”

“Are you a virgin?” McKinley says, cheekily, prompting Kevin to flush.

“Of course.” He doesn’t know if McKinley’s question is serious or teasing, if it had been an invitation or a test. “I wouldn’t—I mean--” He doesn’t know how to finish, but the corners of McKinley’s mouth are twitching up.

“Have sex before marriage?” he suggests.

Kevin makes a face at that, annoyed with his own embarrassment. This is not a moment where he wants to step back and ransack himself and his life choices, especially not ones that he doesn’t have an explanation for, not anymore. “No. It doesn’t matter.” In an attempt to cover up his embarrassment he reaches for McKinley again and this time the other man allows himself to be drawn in. “Besides, is that an offer?”

“Well.” McKinley smiles at him, tilting his head up. “A suggestion, maybe.”

Then they kiss again, and Kevin finds that he likes being able to get McKinley to respond. Having an effect on someone is pleasing, addictive, so Kevin tries to aim for it again and again. He doesn’t know when McKinley’s hands find his own, stopping the way he has been running his palms over his back, trying to work up the courage to slip his fingers under McKinley’s shirt.

“Well,” McKinley says breathlessly. “Don’t get too cocky.” He lets go of Kevin’s hands and begins to unbutton Kevin’s shirt, smiling teasingly. “I’ll show you the ropes.”

Kevin can’t help it; maybe he is nervous, maybe just a little bit annoyed with the comment since it implies that McKinley has substantial experience to further belittle Kevin’s own lack of it; either way, he laughs, reaches down to help with the buttons. “I think it’s pretty intuitive.”

“Oh shush.” McKinley swats his hands away. “Let me have my fun.”

“Fun?” But Kevin obeys him, stands still for a moment with his hands on his sides, feeling stupidly out of place while McKinley slides his shirt off his shoulder before encouraging him to take off the white tank top underneath. Once he does, McKinley’s hands ghost over his sides and then over his back. It is a simple enough touch, but still enough to set off sparks in Kevin’s brain again; he takes it as permission to do the same for McKinley, slipping his fingers under the hem of his shirt to trace the bare skin beneath.

 “This is good,” he says, ducking his head to meet McKinley’s eyes. They fit well together; he feels this more than thinks it, and it is a satisfying notion. “I like this.”

McKinley smiles again, then tilts his head up to give him a peck on the corner of his mouth. “Mm. And you’re cute. And handsome.”

Well—Kevin has never been dissatisfied with his appearance, but hearing someone comment on it sends new thrills of pleasure to the gut of his stomach. He closes his eyes to the pleasure of McKinley’s lips kissing his collarbone, but it is building up to a more urgent need that Kevin wishes would be paid more attention.

“I need to confess something,” McKinley says, voice low, prompting Kevin to open his eyes again.

“Oh—okay.”

“I’ve wanted to do this since the first time I saw you.” McKinley bites his lip, for the first time looks hesitant. It is almost a relief to see a crack in his previously saucy confidence.

“...I know,” Kevin admits.  

McKinley opens his mouth, tilt his head, smiles a little as he relaxes again, pinching the skin of Kevin’s arm between two fingers like a teasing punishment. “You’re cocky, too.”

“It’s not cocky if it’s true.” He rubs his arm. feels almost flustered by the reminder of how confident he used to be—maybe still is. But—Connor McKinley is looking at him with an increasingly playful glint in his grey eyes, and kissing him had been like every electric path in Kevin’s brain had finally aligned.

“Well then.” McKinley nudges him until Kevin gets the hint and takes a couple of steps back towards the bed, unbuckling his pants as he does. McKinley does the same, and Kevin doesn’t quite know how it happens, but he ends up on his back on the bed; there is a moment where he feels almost _cornered_ , but then McKinley leans over him and it’s difficult to think when the other man in his lap, kissing and touching him and—cupping him through his underwear. That sensation quickly becomes his focus; Kevin bucks his hips into the touch.

“So, what does Kevin Price enjoy?” McKinley muses between kisses, sounding both amused and breathless. “Fast or slow? Rough or gentle?” He squeezes a little, just enough to get Kevin to whimper, but he is not sure if it is a protest or not. “A little pain, perhaps?”

“Who likes pain?” Kevin pants, tilting his head to the side.

“Oh,” McKinley says airily. “Who knows?”

It becomes difficult to think after that. There is a flurry of touches and kisses, of heat and of scents and it is entirely overwhelming in the best of ways. Kevin finds himself cheekily tugging at the waistband of McKinley’s underwear until McKinley laughs against his mouth and they struggle together to get them off; then Kevin must lift his hips to be able to get out of his own. They slow down for a moment, breathless. Kevin has never been in this state with someone before, naked and hard and entirely exposed-he is not sure if he likes it, but he does know that he certainly _needs_ it, and needs _more_.

And somehow even more enticingly; McKinley’s skin is pale and he is _definitely_ a natural red-head, and he has got a smooth, soft stomach that Kevin notices that he is sucking in a bit while he is leaning over Kevin, and in combination it all becomes hot, and cute, and the feelings all somehow pool in his dick. He is so hard it _hurts_ , and from the looks of it McKinley is similarly flustered.

“Do you want to--” McKinley pauses, licks his lips. “No, let’s just--” He moves away, reaches over the bed towards his toilet bag on the floor, then comes back, kneeling on the bed with a bottle and a package with what Kevin after a momentary confusion identifies as a condom.

He pulls his knees up—wonders why his heart starts beating faster, wonders why his cock remains hard. “No,” he says, pushing himself up. “I don’t--”

McKinley raises his eyebrows, smiles almost cheekily. “Don’t worry. I’ll bottom.”

Kevin tries to breathe through a strange sense of fascinated panic, startles when McKinley leans in and squeezes his shoulder.

McKinley says, “Anal sex doesn’t make this any gayer than it already is, you know,” sounding almost annoyed, as though he has been over this before, and it makes Kevin let out an almost amused breath even though the flurry of memories. He pushes the pain and humiliation away to the very corner of his mind and shakes his head.

“It’s not that,” he says, feeling stupid. “I don’t—can we just--” He trails off, feeling pathetic and scrutinized when McKinley stares at him.

Finally McKinley shrugs, leans over to set the bottle and condom onto the bedside table. He rolls over to lie on his side, curling around Kevin. Kevin can feel his erection against his hip and shifts, fascinated with the feeling and eager to forget about his own embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” he says, inhaling the scent of McKinley’s hair.

“Don’t be,” McKinley replies, trailing his fingers down Kevin’s stomach. “This is fine, right?”

He reaches the base of Kevin’s cock, wraps his fingers around it and gives it a few strokes.

“Yeah.” Kevin’s voice almost breaks. “Go ahead.”

In retrospect, he almost feels bad about it because he doesn’t do much except power through. He whimpers and moans and is vaguely aware of that McKinley hooks his leg over Kevin’s, grinding against his hip and his own hand while he jerks Kevin off.

And in the end, McKinley draws the orgasm out of him almost ruthlessly and in a way that would have left Kevin feeling borderline violated if it hadn’t also been so mind-blowing. His hips try to meet McKinley’s hand, he is moaning, and McKinley nuzzles into the space where Kevin’s neck meets his shoulder.

“Shh.” McKinley murmurs. “It’s okay. Let it go.”

So Kevin does, spilling over McKinley’s hand with what is very nearly a sob. His mind blanks out for a second and then, the waves of pleasure are already fading, leaving only a faint buzzing under his skin and a sense of embarrassed satisfaction. McKinley is frantically jerking himself off beside him, he realizes, but he stretches out with a moan before long, his entire body tightening for a second before relaxing into the bed. He rests his forehead against Kevin’s shoulder, rubbing his palm off on the sheets.

They snuggle into each other for a moment, breathless, before McKinley begins to make dissatisfied noises and tugs at the sheets until they are released from their tightly made position and they can crawl under them.

Then, carefully, “I’ve never made anyone cry before.”

“I’m not crying,” Kevin mutters, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand. It is not a lie, it hadn’t been a conscious reaction. He doesn’t know why he feels so _drained_.

McKinley doesn’t answer, merely runs his fingers over Kevin’s upper arm, slowly. After a while he says, “Sorry.”

“Huh?”

“You wanted to wait until you were married.” McKinley sounds genuinely distressed. “And I didn’t even _care_.”

“You didn’t exactly force me,” Kevin replies, affronted, then rolls over onto his back to look at the ceiling. He finds it is difficult to sort out his own feelings. He is tired, mostly. Warm, with McKinley curled up beside him. Not at all drunk anymore, so he can’t even blame that for anything. “So, was it what you always wanted?”

“What?” McKinley sounds sleepy now.

“You said you always wanted to sleep with me. Was it what you expected?”

“I was referring to kissing you.” McKinley sounds amused. “And—do you really want to know?”

Kevin sits up, frowning; the sheet slides down into his lap.

McKinley rolls over onto his back to look at him, stretching out and looking suspiciously like the cat that got the cream. “I’m just teasing you.” His smile slips from his face. “I was expecting you to have a life crisis right about now.”

“I haven’t gotten that far yet,” Kevin admits, leaning back again.

McKinley snuggles closer. “From what I could tell from earlier tonight, you kind of _need_ a life crisis.”

“I just slept with my former district leader,” Kevin muses, ignoring him. “Who is a man.”

McKinley peers at him. “Panicking yet?”

Kevin contemplates it. “No.”

“Good.” McKinley drapes an arm across his chest, snuggles closer. “Because Michael’s wedding is in two months, and I think it’d improve with a repeat performance.”

Kevin makes a face at him but finds that he lacks the energy to protest, or even figure out if he wants to. Maybe he still _is_ somewhat inebriated, maybe sex simply makes him stupid. Or maybe he is just _tired_ ; because he finds that he can’t even figure out if he would rather take a shower or stay where he is. If he should stay in this room, or try to navigate the corridors of this enormous hotel to find his own room.

It is only when he realizes that McKinley is asleep beside him that he makes up his mind, and stays for a  while.


	2. Chapter 2

"Already?" Connor asks; pleased because it is so rare for him to find someone who knows how to _keep it up_. He stretches his legs out, his feet, his toes, feels sated and warm and _intrigued_ , turns the idea over in his mind a few times, tries to work himself up to it, then turns to his side and grins at Kevin Price. "Can't get enough of me, can you?"

He takes the liberty of pushing his palm against Price's erection, only a thin sheet separating skin from skin, watching Price’s face as he does.

It is only their second time together--maybe soon to be their third—but it is like Connor can’t get enough of watching the expressions that Price makes, like he is caught somehow between pain, embarrassment and finally something that Connor can’t quite put his finger on. Is it conflict? Trust? Or is this what desire looks like for Kevin Price? Connor doesn’t know, but he feels like he wants to find out.

“Well,” Price says, and his _voice_ is definitely embarrassed. “Are you going to talk or are you going to do something about it?”

Connor blinks, then laughs.

Maybe he is high on life. Or power.

He had thought about seducing Price for a long time, Thought, as in _fantasized_. Price had been surprisingly difficult to pin-point, once Connor had gotten over his initial, well. _Fascination_ is his preferred way of putting it, and the least embarrassing. And doing it with Price once—well, that is a fantasy come true. Doing it again, a month later, in the same situation but in a different hotel bed—that is almost surreal.

He had expected their reunion at Elder Michael’s wedding to be awkward at best. But one thing can be said about Kevin Price, Connor supposes, and that is that he doesn’t do anything halfway. And if he is going to sleep with Connor, he is _really_ going to do it, to the point that he is apparently aiming for a hat-trick.

He rubs his palm a little more forcefully against Price’s erection, keeps his eyes on the way he bites his lower lip in response to the stimulation. “You have good stamina. It figures, you’re younger than me.“

“Not by _that_ much,” Price protests, his hips meeting the movement of Connor’s palm. “Or wait, how old are you?”

“It’s impolite of you to ask.” Connor tuts, then tells him anyway, because he doesn’t _really_ mind.

“Huh.” Price takes a breath, reaches out with his hand to rest on Connor’s arm as though he is starved for more touch. “What’s your favorite Disney movie, then?”

“What?” Connor laughs again, this time from surprise, because that is not a question that he would have expected from someone that Connor is practically jerking off in a hotel bed after a wedding dinner and one or two drinks. But Price is looking at him as though it is genuine question, so he finds himself squinting, trying to remember what movies he used to watch as a kid. “The Little Mermaid, I suppose.”

“I knew it.” Price smiles, squeezing his hand around Connor’s free arm as though trying to encouraging him to move faster. “Well. It’s what I would have guessed, anyway.”

“Okay.” Connor decides against asking, gives Price a final stroke, and withdraws his hand. “Well. To answer your original question. _I’m_ not going to take care of this.” He gives Price’s cock a theatrical pat that makes Price’s thighs twitch. “ _You_ are.”

Price stares at him. “What?”

“I told you.” Connor rolls over onto his back and stretches out, spreads his legs under the sheet. “You have too much stamina. I need a minute. And some _persuasion_.” He smiles, tries to make it look innocent. “Please?”

“Right,” Price says slowly, glancing between Connor’s face and his own abandoned erection that is almost indecently defined through the thin sheet. “Uhm.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Connor says with a flighty hand-movement, intentionally mimicking the countless times that he has heard that quote from casting directors—though he supposes that Price will not get the reference.

Price spreads his legs, makes a strange face. “What do you want me to do?”

“Whatever you’re comfortable with,” Connor says, then pauses when he catches the real discomfort in Price’s face and tries to think quickly to keep this from becoming awkward. “You can start by removing that sheet, and spread your legs a bit more.”

Price does it slowly, a slight frown on his face, but Connor can’t tell if it is from discomfort or concentration. The faint shadow of a happy trail is bared—then the rest of him, and Connor welcomes the twitch between his own legs, moves his hand to try to refine the feeling.

Price wraps his hand around his cock without further instructions and begins to stroke himself. There is pre-cum collecting at the tip already; Connor once again marvels over his companion’s speed and energy.

“Faster,” he instructs to make sure Price doesn’t hesitate again, pleased when he obeys. “So, what’s _your_ favorite Disney movie?”

“Huh?” He sounds somewhat winded, and there is a lock of hair that is starting to escape his carefully gelled hair. “Umm.”

“Can’t concentrate?” Connor teases, poking Price’s foot with his own. “Come on, tell me. I can’t guess.”

Price takes a breath, frowning again. “Toy Story.”

Connor strokes himself lazily, almost entirely erect now. “Really?” He thinks about it, tries to remember. “I’ve never seen it.”

Price looks surprisingly scandalized for someone who is dripping pre-cum onto his own quivering stomach. He looks positively lewd like this, far removed from the almost nervous prudery that Connor remembers from long ago.

It is delightful.  

“Faster,” he says, and Price does as he says, speeding up, the wrinkle between his eyebrows deepening; he loses his focus on Connor’s face, tilting his head back. “You’ll have to watch it sometime,” he says breathlessly. “It’s great.”

Connor’s smile almost falters. For some reason there is a heat in his chest that he doesn’t feel altogether comfortable with. “Yeah,” he says. Then, hurriedly. “Go ahead, faster.”

“But I’m going to--” Price moans, sounds absolutely wrecked.

Connor moves onto his elbow to face him. He is fully erect now; can sense Price’s urgency, a sort of almost-stress that makes him shake and send pulses of energy under Connor’s skin. He leans in close, revels in the desperation, uses it to refocus himself. “Well, go ahead.”

When Price comes, Connor finds that he can’t look away from his face. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes closed, he looks like he is caught between pain and ecstasy; his shoulders are shaking. He comes over his own stomach, breathing unsteadily, and his stomach also becomes the first part of him that Connor touches during this whole thing. He can’t keep his fingertips away, runs them across the white streaks, smearing them out.

“Good.”

Price lets out a breath that sounds like a snort. “What do you mean by _that_?”

He looks embarrassed enough for Connor to take pity on him, wiping him off with his palm, and them wiping his palm against the sheet, sparing a quick apologetic thought to whoever will be cleaning the room after they have left. Then, he leans in to kiss Price’s cheek, the corner of his mouth, and finally his mouth, tenderly, then tilts his head back. “I mean it. You did--good.”

Maybe it is fondness, the warmth in his chest. But the heat between his legs… well, that is different. Easier, if anything. He smiles, takes Price’s hand and guides it between Connor’s legs.

“Now that you’ve had some practice… want to take care of this?”


	3. Chapter 3

The thing about sex is that once he has tried it, Kevin doesn't get tired of it. He is pretty sure that the two of them could go through the exact same motions over and over and he would still want a repeat performance. His body would still stir at McKinley’s presence in the room, at his smell and most importantly, his touch. Maybe Kevin is easy to please; either way, it puts him in direct contrast with McKinley, who seems to be a fan of variation. To Kevin it feels wildly experimental but he suspects that McKinley doesn’t mean to be. It is more like McKinley has a better grasp of what he wants and how he wants it, combined with a broad imagination, and his mind seems to process all that before Kevin has even figured out that he wants anything at all.

Not that he is complaining. It is very educational.

Before Kevin can react, McKinley presses his lips against Kevin's one last time before moving away and lowering himself down to his knees with as much elegance as is possible in the small toilet stall. Kevin had only intended to excuse himself to the bathroom before they went to the breakfast buffet together – he had been puzzled when McKinley had decided to accompany him. And well—one thing always seems to lead to another whenever they are alone together nowadays.

McKinley's legs stretch under the door of the stall; Kevin wonders what anyone would think if they entered the bathroom now. Thankfully most people are still either in their hotel rooms or at breakfast; the lobby had been relatively empty when they had passed it a couple of minutes ago.

Kevin jumps when McKinley begins to work on his belt buckle.  

It is like his cock responds to the situation without his conscious consent and it doesn’t feel quite _right_ ; he tries to press himself backwards but the toilet seat is in the way and must stretch his arms out to press his hands against the walls to keep himself from falling over.

"Uh,” he says. “What are you doing?"

"What do you think?" McKinley sounds amused, continues to work on Kevin's belt, then the button of his pants. He hums when he pulls the zipper down, as though pleased to see Kevin’s Pavlovian response to his touch.

Kevin’s breath hitches when McKinley begins to knead him through his boxers, then twitches away. "You really don't have to do this."

"So you _do_ know what I'm doing?" The amusement is almost mocking, or at least it feels that way. Kevin frowns, tries to side-step the toilet seat to put some distance between them.

"Don't make fun of me."

"I'm not--well." McKinley looks thoughtful for a moment. "Are you saying that you don’t want me to suck your dick? Because in that case I’ll stop."

He snorts, shocked by the frankness of McKinley’s words, but even that can’t keep him from momentarily feeling like the walls of the stall are closing in on him and it feels dirty, like layers and layers of grime are ready to rub off on his skin. But Kevin’s pants are still unzipped, his body still wants--something, and McKinley's eyes are wide and gray and surprisingly earnest.

So what tumbles out of Kevin's mouth is, "Don't you dare," and McKinley's eyes widen for a second before the corners of his lips tug up into a slight smile. Kevin's pants get pulled down to his thighs and his underwear follow, and Kevin feels very naked like this. McKinley doesn’t seem to mind.

"You are so sexy," he purrs and he fondles his balls in his hand, and Kevin’s heart is beating a bit harder in his chest than usual so he refrains from responding.

It is not like Kevin doesn't _know_ what oral sex is. But maybe he has a lingering, religious guilt, a deep-rooted feeling that it's a dirty act, maybe it is Kevin himself that feels dirty for even considering it, and that thought distracts him, tickles at the back of his neck until McKinley leans forward and touches his tongue to the tip in a tickling, unbearably teasing motion, then slowly wraps his lips around it.

Then it becomes difficult to think anything at all.

“Oh,” Kevin says stupidly. “Okay.”

McKinley’s breath is hot and his lips are careful at first, then tighten around him as he begins to move forward, and Kevin is pretty sure that his knees are going to start quivering with the effort of keeping himself upright. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands so he curls his fingers in his own hair to try to ground himself.

They keep their eye-contact, and that is--intense. Kevin can’t look away as McKinley takes more and more of him in his mouth and he can’t decide if he thinks McKinley looks concentrated, challenging, or amused.

Kevin hadn’t expected a blow job to feel so _intimate_.

The thought makes him unexpectedly uncomfortable; he closes his eyes and thus doesn’t get a warning before McKinley begins to move back and forth. The feeling of it, the tightness and the heat and the friction combined with how forbidden and _weird_ this is, well, it is satisfying some deep-rooted in Kevin. The frustrating heat in his body intensifies and then bursts out of him surprisingly fast. So fast, in fact, that he mourns the loss of it, and McKinley sputters as leans back.  

He clears his throat and leans towards the toilet to spit. “It’s customary to give a warning beforehand,” he says pointedly, and it makes Kevin’s ears burn.

“Sorry.” He should wipe himself off, but feels awkward about it, tugs his underwear up with somewhat shaking hands instead.

McKinley clears his throat again, makes a face and then struggles to stand up, but he actually doesn’t look too bothered. In fact, his cheeks are flushed, Kevin realizes, and his eyes glassy somehow, and then he realizes that McKinley is turned on and, well. Kevin somehow feels both invigorated and drained at the same time, but the look in McKinley’s eyes pulls him forward towards McKinley’s mouth despite himself.

It ought to be disgusting to kiss him after his mouth has been _there_ , but Kevin’s mind sort of disregards that fact. Even though his own arousal is quickly fading, it is strangely satisfying to pin McKinley against the wall and kiss him deeply like this, knowing that McKinley is _responding_ to it in more ways than one.

Kevin fumbles with his hand until he manages to unzip McKinley’s pants and then he jerks him off, clumsily perhaps, but the whimpers that are escaping McKinley’s mouth are delightful and he comes even faster than Kevin had done, which makes him feel, possibly disproportionally, smug.

Kevin ends up with McKinley’s forehead resting against his shoulder and his come over his hand and wrist. It is a hot moment somehow, and he feels immensely satisfied, sort of wants to say, ‘take that’, but what comes out of his mouth instead is, for some reason, “Uh, thanks.”

McKinley takes a second longer to breathe, then lifts his head from Kevin’s shoulder. They are standing very close together and Kevin wants to kiss him again but doesn’t quite feel invited to do it.

“You too,” McKinley replies, and the small smile on his face is hard to interpret. Kevin feels like it might be mockery, but at the same time McKinley’s eyes are too kind for that.

Not sure what to say after, Kevin takes a step back and buckles his belt and begins to tuck his shirt back in. He glances at McKinley to make sure that he is decent before opening the door to the toilet stall. “We’re lucky no-one came in here while you--well.”

“Would you have noticed if anyone did?” McKinley wonders airily as he steps out the stall and stops in front of the mirror to fix his hair. “You seemed pretty distracted.”

Kevin refuses to blush. He has started to realize that McKinley likes to feel in control of any given situation, and one of his favorite ways of doing that is to try to make the people around him feel like _they_ are not.

“You too,” he counters while he washes his hands, then frowns when he finds that the hand drier doesn’t work.

McKinley shrugs and changes the subject. “So, anything exciting going on back home?”

Kevin shakes his hands, flicking water over the sinks while he thinks about his classes, his apartment, his part-time job. He has a few deadlines coming up, but nothing that feels interesting to talk about. In fact, it all seems dull compared to _this_. “I suppose not.”

McKinley hums noncommittally. “I have an audition tomorrow,” he says, sounding mournful. “I really should be practicing right now.”

“I’m sure Michaels appreciated that you could attend his wedding,” Kevin points out.

“Did _you_?” McKinley asks, smiling coquettishly.

Kevin opens his mouth to respond before he realizes that he feels awkward about what he is going to say. Having sex with his former district leader once would be, well. It could be labeled a mistake. Doing it again, and again, implies things that are embarrassing to put into words because this whole thing is so unlike him to begin with.

He frowns at himself in the mirror, then shrugs. “Well, we better go get some breakfast, right? Before people start wondering where we are, I mean.”

McKinley is not the only one who can deflect, after all.  


End file.
